


Skin Deep

by darlingargents



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Antagonism, Bathroom Sex, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Hate Sex, Post-IT (2017), Power Dynamics, Vaginal Fingering, minor fisticuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/pseuds/darlingargents
Summary: A punch, a kiss, and something more.
Relationships: Gretta Keene/Beverly Marsh
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Skin Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).



> The "minor fisticuffs" tag refers to a couple of brief fight scenes. Some blood, no major damage.

The white letters scrawled across the blackboard read DETENTION, and there’s only three people in the room besides Mr. Anderson. Patrick Hockstetter, as usual, the sole remaining Bowers gang member, a class unto himself; Gretta Keene; and Bev. Patrick sits right at the back, as he always does, cleaning his nails with a knife that Mr. Anderson is too afraid to take from him. Gretta is sitting as far away from him as she can, at the front, by the windows.

Bev came in last. She didn’t want to go near either of them. She’d taken the second row, opposite Gretta.

Gretta taps the tip of her pen against her teeth, over and over, and Bev can’t focus on her book, which is probably the whole point. When she glances up, there’s blue pen marks on Gretta’s bottom lip, and she glares daggers into Bev’s skull until she looks back down at her book.

Yeah. Gretta is pissed.

They’re both here because they got into a fight. It’s only the second day of the school year and Bev really thought she was above it — that after that summer, and her dad, and the clown, that she wouldn’t care about Gretta being a snotty bitch.

And then it had been lunchtime, and Gretta had screamed at her from the bottom of the bleachers to ask how many cocks she’d sucked over the weekend, and Bev hadn’t thought it through at all. She’d picked up her bag, climbed down the bleachers to stand in front of Gretta, carefully put her bag aside, and punched her in the face.

Gretta still has a black eye. Bev is carefully not looking at the dried blood from Gretta’s busted lip on the back of her knuckles.

Gretta had given as good as she got, which is why Bev has a darkening bruise on her collarbone and a hard bump on the back of her head. The teacher on duty had seen the whole thing, and they’d both gotten detention.

And now she’s here, and Mr. Anderson is watching them both from behind his desk with his feet up, and she’s trying to focus, but she’s still furious. She wants to rip out Gretta’s stupidly curled hair and choke her with it.

Bev raises her hand. The bloody one, as Mr. Anderson seems to notice.

“Bathroom?”

“Fine. Don’t leave the school.” He leans back and picks up his book again.

She leaves her bag and goes. Her cigarettes are in her back pocket, her lighter in her front. She’ll be longer than Mr. Anderson would like, but she can always claim _feminine issues_ and he won’t push the point.

It’s maybe a minute later, when Bev has climbed up on the counter to light her cigarette out the window, when the door slams open and Gretta comes in.

“You fucking bitch, Marsh,” Gretta says, and Bev just rolls her eyes. She’s not planning on getting into another fight, but if she does, she has a lit cigarette in her hand and a height advantage. She’s not too worried.

“You started it,” she says, and looks out the window. It’s a hot day; it still feels like summer. She’s sweating through her t-shirt, and her jean skirt is probably too tight for the weather; she can feel the sweat between her legs.

“Fuck you.”

“Are you going to hit me or are you going to—”

Gretta does hit her, and Bev’s head slams into the window. “Fuck!”

“You goddamn bitch—”

It’s a stupid slapfight. The last one at least had some blood; this is just Gretta pushing her into the window, Bev reaching back to yank on her curls, trying to keep the cigarette away from either of their skins.

Eventually Bev gets her foot between them and kicks Gretta in the chest hard enough to send her stumbling back. Gretta glares at her, standing her ground, her hair a mess and her lip starting to bleed again.

Bev throws her cigarette out the window — it’s gone out and she’s sick of it, anyway. She slides down off the counter, and she thinks Gretta might actually let her leave when Gretta pushes her up against a wall. Doesn’t slam her, just pushes, and Bev is so surprised that she goes along with it.

“What—”

Gretta kisses her.

Bev isn’t expecting it, and it’s a bit of a mess — the angle is all wrong, and she can taste Gretta’s cherry chapstick and the blood from her opened cut. But Gretta pushes her and kisses her and Bev finds herself opening her mouth, letting Gretta in.

Whatever this is, it’s better than getting in another fistfight.

Gretta breaks away and says, “You taste like cigarettes.”

“You’re the one that kissed me,” Bev says.

“Bitch,” Gretta says, and moves to leave. Without thinking, Bev reaches out and grabs her wrist.

She’s expecting Gretta to pull away, or say something cutting, or hit her again. She’d be fine with that; she’s almost craving the fight. There’s something about it that makes her feel more alive than anything she’s ever felt.

Under her hand, Gretta stays still, and Bev can feel her racing pulse. She pulls Gretta towards her, and she comes.

It’s like she has Gretta under her thumb, and the thought gives Bev a thrill that she likes a little too much. When Gretta has moved to stand in front of her again, Bev lets go of her wrist and kisses her back, one hand in Gretta’s hair, the other on her waist.

It’s a sweeter, gentler kiss at first, and Bev doesn’t think she actually likes that. She pushes Gretta back and Gretta goes, moving back until she’s leaning against the counter. Bev winds her fingers into Gretta’s hair and pulls, and Gretta moans.

They both stop for a moment, and Bev pulls back. Gretta is flushed red, from kissing or embarrassment or both, and Bev has the feeling that she can push her luck here.

She puts one hand on Gretta’s thigh, and Gretta doesn’t say a word, just breathes and looks down at it. Bev slides her hand up, her fingers vanishing under Gretta’s skirt, and her breath hitches in her throat.

Bev is almost sure that she’s about to ruin it, but she still asks. “Is this okay?”

“Fuck off,” Gretta says, and closes her eyes. Bev takes that as a yes.

She slides her hand all the way up and under Gretta’s panties. She’s already soaking wet, and it’s easy for Bev to slide two fingers into her cunt. Gretta grabs her shoulder, breathing hard, as Bev starts to slide her fingers in and out, her thumb gliding over Gretta’s clit.

She’s not good at it, she’s fairly sure; her fumbling attempts to masturbate never amounted to much, and she’d basically given up. But maybe Gretta is better at feeling it, or it’s different when it’s someone else, because as Bev finds her rhythm, Gretta starts to make little noises in the back of her throat. Noises that go straight to Bev’s cunt. Gretta rocks down on her fingers and Bev positions her thumb right over Gretta’s clit so she can move against it, and Gretta lets out a little cry that she immediately stifles with a hand over her own mouth.

Bev stifles her grin. If she’d known she could get Gretta to shut up just by doing this, she’d have done it ages ago.

Bev starts to speed up the thrusting of her fingers, and Gretta closes her eyes and lets out little gasps against the hand over her mouth. Bev keeps going, and going, and then she feels something — a gush of moisture, a rhythmic clenching around the fingers buried deep in Gretta’s cunt.

She lets Gretta ride it out, and pulls out her fingers.

For a moment, Gretta just looks at her, red-faced and looking utterly wrecked, and then she fixes her skirt and rolls her eyes. “Well, if you expect me to return the favour—”

“I do,” Bev says, and goes to lock the bathroom door. (Well, shove a broom from the corner through the handle. Close enough.) She comes back and pulls her jean skirt up to her waist, pulls off her underwear, and leans against the wall. “Go ahead.”

She’s almost sure she can’t pull it off — that Gretta will flip her off and call her a bitch and leave — but Gretta seems to have lost all of her bite. She just looks at Bev for a long moment, and then comes up and kneels down between Bev’s legs.

Bev leans up against the wall and closes her eyes.

She feels Gretta’s hands on her thighs, a bit hesitant, and then Gretta’s tongue sliding against her cunt. It sends sparks of heat through her core, a building wetness and warmth in her cunt, but it’s not enough, not quite right. She has to tuck her hands behind her back to stop herself from grabbing onto Gretta’s hair and having her way with her.

It’s clear that Gretta hasn’t done this before — her movements are hesitant and slow. She licks her way up to suck on Bev’s clit and Bev gasps, her fists tightening enough to hurt. Gretta moves one hand off Bev’s thigh and slides a finger inside her, starting up a tauntingly slow rhythm.

It’s messy and imperfect and not quite right, and it’s still _good_. Bev is getting eaten out against the school bathroom wall by a girl who has always hated her, and it’s good.

Gretta does something with her teeth, maybe, or just a new motion of her tongue over Bev’s clit, and Bev can’t stop her hips from jerking forward. She bites down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out, but a noise escapes, and Gretta’s nails on her free hand dig into her thigh as her efforts seem to redouble. Her fingers speed up and her tongue circles Bev’s clit over and over until Bev feels the tingling in her fingers, the warmth in her cunt that spreads through her whole body. She can’t hold back the gasp, and she reaches out to grab Gretta’s hair as she rides out the rest of the orgasm on Gretta’s tongue and fingers.

For a long moment, it’s silent except for the sounds of their breathing. Gretta pulls back, and Bev feels almost giddy when she sees the wetness on Gretta’s face.

“Fuck you,” Gretta says, with no bite whatsover. Bev just grins and pulls her panties out of her pocket to put them back on.

“You already did,” she says, and adjusts her jean skirt back to her hips. She makes sure her cigarettes are tucked fully into the pocket, so Mr. Anderson won’t have anything to say to her, and heads back to the classroom, practically whistling.

“That was quite a long trip, Miss Marsh,” Mr. Anderson says without putting down his book.

“Feminine issues,” Bev says sweetly, and Mr. Anderson pales a little. Patrick lets out a little snort, which she ignores. “So sorry. Won’t happen again.”

She sits back down. A minute later, Gretta comes back in. She doesn’t look at Bev or Mr. Anderson as she crosses the room and sits at her desk.

Bev suppresses a smile into her book. If nothing else, she’s fairly sure that it _will_ happen again. And she can’t say she’s unhappy about that.


End file.
